Marriage with small children

It's a side effect of having small children, I think.  It's so overwhelming at times that the marriage becomes secondary.  It's the basis of it all, but not always, not nearly enough sometimes, the center of it.  I'm really blessed because my marriage is really, really strong.  So it absorbs a certain amount of neglect.  I think that everything comes in stages, there was a time when Marc and I were the most important thing, and a time when we were just a family of three.  Then a time when we were a family of four and Lilli and Sarah were over all the time and things were hectic and crazy.  Then Julianna came along, the girls got even older, and now we're readjusting to a family with two kids in school (still trying to get used to the fact that my Sammy boy will be away from me all day five days a week), a toddler and busy, active adolescent step daughters.

But every now and again - I realize how fragile marriage is.  That's not right - because it's not fragile, I know that I love Marc and he loves me the way I know that my eyes are brown and the sky is blue.  The marriage isn't fragile.  I realize how vital the marriage is - and how terrifying it would be if I didn't have that behind me.  If I didn't have that connection.  I'm literally one of the happiest people I know.  I love my life, I really, really love being at home with my children, I love having three kids.  I love the ease of my life, the lack of drama, the comfortable-ness of it all.  Marc and I rarely, if ever, actually fight. And even if we do, we fight calmly, we don't throw things, we don't name call.  And we never, ever, don't resolve it.   If I didn't have the marriage, if I didn't have Marc, I can't imagine how I'd ever be happy.  Not like this.

Yesterday was one of those days when we actually had a fight (over perhaps the stupidest thing).  And I was angry - really angry, and that's so unusual that it was scary for me.  Marc was angry too, and between his anger and mine, it was a really unfamiliar place for us.  I'm not used to feeling not connected to him, and even after we made up, I still felt all shaky and vulnerable.

And we did make up, and slept last night all tangled up together and everything is fine this morning.  We're a little more careful with each other, a little extra solicitous and thoughtful.  I just want to remember this, this sense of gratitude and thankfulness.  Not just that we made up, because of course we were going to make up,  but because it is so scary to me when we fight.  Because not having that connection, not feeling like we're a team and doing this together is so terrifying and so completely wrong.  Not everyone has that.  Not everyone feels that.  And as much as I hated fighting with my husband, I'm grateful for the fight today - because it reminded me not to take it for granted.  Not to take the peace, the connection, the love for granted.

I love you, honey, more than you'll know.  And if I forget sometimes to tell you, between diaper changes and baths and stories and cleaning the toys up and doing the laundry, just remind me, okay?

It's just too hot

I've started a couple of different blog posts over the past few days, but haven't finished them.  It's just so stinking hot that I can't do anything for any length of time.  Last night was just brutally hot, and I've somehow got ALL these kids sleeping on top of me.  So this morning, I'm hot and sticky and exhausted.  As are they - my poor little Julianna had such a hard time falling (and staying) asleep and she was up at the crack of dawn.  She's rubbing her ears and her mouth and feels vaguely feverish - although she's always rubbing her ears, so that's not necessarily a sign of anything, and it's so awfully hot that I can't tell if she's got a fever or if she's just melting like the rest of us.

Sam and Julie are plopped on the couch, watching PBS and the older two girls are sleeping.  Jessie's buddy Glennys is here for a couple of days, which is delightful, because I love Glennys - but Sam got up super early because he wanted to play with her.

Fussiness ensues on the couch - nobody wins when its this humid and hot and the baby is exhausted.

Second Wife Survival Tips

Marc has two daughters from his first marriage, and we see his ex frequently at family functions.  It's... an odd situation, because while it's lovely and great for the kids that it's so amicable, it's a confusing place for me to be.  I don't know quite where I fit in sometimes.  This has gotten better as time goes on, Marc and I have been together almost ten years now, so there's little doubt that I'm there as his wife, but I still feel awkward and uncomfortable at parties that we both attend.

So I've developed some tricks to get thru it.  Number one, I always make sure to reward myself every single time.  Either the day of the function or the day afterwards, I get to take the afternoon off, no kids, and indulge myself somehow.  Sometimes it's a pedicure, sometimes it's a movie, sometimes it's an ice cream cone or take out chinese and a good book.  But I always make sure to indulge myself in something just for me.  It's gotten a lot easier over the years, but it's never easy going anywhere where I'm primarily known as the second wife.

Number two, I'm not afraid to discreetly disappear during the party if I need some space.  Granted, it helps a lot that I've got an eight year old with dramatic tendencies and a slight persecution complex,  five year old who hates parties, and I've got a toddler who's still a nursing girl.  I bring a book and if I need to go chill out in the car for a while, I just pick up a kid and head out.  Oddly enough, my kids love just hanging in the car, I plop them in the front seat and just relax for a bit.  Nobody questions it, and I'm able to regroup.

Number three - I fake it well.  Stick a smile on my face, and remain relentlessly pleasant.  Sometimes it's easier than others - but mostly, I try to make it look as though I LOVE hanging out with someone who used to have sex with my husband.  Someone who's his partner in raising children, and someone that we'll be involved with, to one extent or another, for the rest of our lives.   Being a stepmother is complicated and hard, but on the upside, were I not a stepmother - I wouldn't be a wife or mother either, and honestly, having my stepdaughters is well worth the awkwardness.

Happy birthday to the sweetest five year old

If you'd asked me if I wanted to have daughters or sons ten years ago, I'd have said daughters.  All the way.  I come from a super female dominated family, and I'm extremely close to my own mother.  I knew what to do with daughters - and wasn't sure I'd know what to do with a son.  Fast forward to the day five years ago, when Marc gleefully hollered "It's a BOY!" and I held him in my arms for the first time.

I still am baffled and confused by a lot of Sam.  Superheros, guns, firemen and zombies - all of these are things I've become achingly familiar with, and am stunned at how incredibly easy it is to adapt to all things boy.  He's one of the loves of my life - and I can't imagine my life without my precious boy.

From the beginning, Sam has awed and amazed me with his amazing strength of will and capacity to love.  His love is so pure and so sweet.  He was born with separation anxiety, from the very beginning, he knew his rightful place was in my arms and he hollered and yelled anytime he wasn't there.  He realized when he was about six or seven months old that he had a father, that strange pair of arms that held him were attached to a really cool guy, and just fell in love.  He's had an enormous hero attachment to his daddy ever since.

Sam is shy in many ways, very reserved and would always, always rather stay home.  Unless we're going to Chuck E Cheese.  But trips to Grammy's, heading to his friend's house to play, out to Walmart - given the choice, he'd rather stay home and chill out.  He's passionately attached to just about everything, getting rid of clothes he's outgrown is an exercise in stealth.  He's smart and funny and the best big brother in the world.  He's also the best little brother.

Sometimes I thought he had a playbook of how to go about being a little brother, because he so perfectly seemed to do all of the stereotypical little brother things.  But he loves his big sisters, and is never happier than when they're playing with him.  And Julianna simply worships him.

I'm so glad that I was wrong - that I didn't just have daughters.  Because Sam has added so much joy and so much love - having a son is one of the biggest surprises in my life and I can't imagine what it would be like without him.

I love you so much Sammy.   Happy, happy birthday - watching you grow up and being your mother is one of the joys that I'll never ever take for granted.

I love Marc a little bit extra tonight

It's after nine o'clock, and I'm still waiting for Marc and Jessica to come home.  I know that Marc desperately needs to work out, and he still went up to Maine to rescue our little girl.  Four hours up, four hours back, that's a LONG day driving, and he had things he really needed to do today.  But he still offered to go, and went without complaining, and I've been thinking today about what that must have been like for Jessie.   To turn around and suddenly see her Daddy and know that she could come home.  How happy she must have been, how safe and loved she must feel right now...

We all come into parenting with our own baggage, and God knows I have my fair share.  I didn't have a dad who rescued me.  Maybe he wanted to - I don't think he had bad intentions - but parenting is hard, and he bailed out.   And I had a mom who loved me, loved me, loved me, but also had to share her with three younger siblings.  I don't ever remember being scared or feeling lost and alone and being saved by my parents.  I'm sure that my mother must have saved me a bunch of times - because she was really a great parent, but I grew up early and fast because I had to.  I would have sucked it up, I would have not wanted to make my mom feel bad because I was scared.  I felt an enormous responsibility to take some of the weight off of her shoulders.  I wouldn't have added to it by giving into homesickness and crying.  My mother didn't have a husband that would drop everything and drive eight hours to save me.

Lucky, lucky Jessica.  And lucky, lucky me - because my husband is amazing.

Okay - I'm a crappy parent

I try, I mean, I really, really do.  I parent really thoughtfully, I put a lot of effort into it.  I read the books, I carefully consider my decisions re: the kids.  Everything from where they sleep, to where they go to school, how many after school activities to enroll them in.  I have my own little philosophies, I believe in nursing on demand, extended nursing into toddlerhood.  I co-sleep, don't mind artificial flavors or colors, I think buying organic is not necessary.  I believe in child led weaning, child led potty training and I really think that kids should not start formal preschool until possibly the year before kindergarten, and even then, only if the kid wants to go.  I believe in free range parenting, I don't think it's my job to entertain or amuse my kids, I try and give them as much freedom as I can.  I want them to grow up to be bold and confident and able to take care of themselves.

So, in that spirit, I shipped my daughter off for a week camping.   She's with my extended family - but not with me or Marc.  Last year, she went for part of the week, and loved it, so I thought this week would be fine.  But it wasn't.  I dropped her off Saturday morning, and she called Sunday night crying to come home.  Same thing Monday night and when she called this morning crying, I just gave up and sent Marc up to get her.  She was trying so hard, and I could hear it in her voice.  She wanted so badly to be brave and stick it out, but really, she just missed me and wanted to be home.

Intellectually, I can totally see the point of making her stick it out.  She's eight years old, she's with my family, she's safe and loved and should be able to relax and have fun without me up there.  But bottom line, there are only so many sobbing voicemails I can hear, with her beautiful little voice trembling out "Mommy, I just miss you so much."  I'm (well, Marc, really) rushing up to rescue her - and perhaps reinforcing a bunch of bad messages.  Teaching her that her parents will always rush to save her, that she's only safe and secure when she's with us... but then again, the facts are that I can only handle a couple of days of knowing that she's up there, sad and missing me.  She's only eight - she's got the rest of her life to learn self reliance and how to tough it out.  For right now, we'll rescue her - because I miss her more than anything, and can't wait to snuggle her once she gets home :-)

Best fireworks ever

Every year, I go see the fireworks with Marc at the old courthouse.  We've been going since Jess was about two, so I went when I was nine months pregnant with Sam, and when Julianna was just a tiny little love bug, asleep in her pram.  This year, I think it was my all time favorite.  We just had my three (Lilli was home sick and Sarah had come for dinner, but bailed before the fireworks actually started), and Marc's parents had come along for the first time.  I wore Miss Julianna in the carrier, and Sam brought his friend Sasha from down the street.  We had snacks and water, and the very best part was that it started pouring right as the fireworks started.  It rained for a few minutes, and then cleared away, and everyone was drenched and cheerful in the way that you are when something unexpected happens.  But it was lovely, the kids were all happy and thrilled, I was able to really just sort of relax, Sam was playing with Sasha, Jessie was munching on cheese puffs and sharing them with a very happy baby (although she was distinctly ill amused with the rain).  It was one of those moments when I looked at Marc and was exceedingly happy to be doing this with him.

And by "this," I mean so much more than just watching fireworks in the rain.  I've been pondering what goes into making a happy marriage.  I think sometimes what keeps Marc and I together and happy is a combination of really high expectations and absolute commitment.  I think Marc would accept less, in terms of marriage satisfaction - he's in it forever regardless.  Whereas I really, really won't accept less,  I have a different perspective on marriage.  I've never seen a successful marriage, not really.  My grandparents (and my grandmother passed away when I was still a child).  My parents split up when I was six, all of my aunts have divorced.  Even the people I knew who were married didn't seem all that happy about it - and even today, so many of the marriages that I see are not anything I'd want to be a part of.   Getting married, for me, was something I could get myself to do only by telling myself that if it didn't work, I could always get a divorce.  For Marc, it was absolute, he WAS NOT getting a divorce, ever.  The combination of those two, my need for it to be a marriage unlike everyone else's - my marriage was going to strong, or it wasn't going to be, and Marc's absolute and utter commitment - he's not considering anything else, is what makes us work.

Marc and I - somehow, against all odds (because, really, you would never have put us together on paper - he was a very newly divorced Jewish guy with two kids from Worcester, I was a single very non Jewish girl with virtually no long term relationship experience who thought of Worcester as SO FAR away from everything), have built this really, really incredible relationship.  He's my best friend, my partner, my... everything.  And I know that he feels the same way.  We're in this together, in a way that I never imagined I could be, in a way that I didn't know existed really.  I still don't exactly understand how I got this lucky, but thank God every day for it.